CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #3
A horn sounded out mournfully from the other side of the spinney telling her to move out and Rosalie stepped forward, her delicate ears twitching like radar.
They moved off swiftly, Sage ducking low over the pretty mare’s neck to avoid the long-reaching tendrils of the low-hanging birch boughs that covered the path.
The pair travelled harmoniously, cantering along the hard clay path to catch up with the huntsman and his hounds who were moving steadily back up the valley in the waning light.
Rosalie responded with alacrity, overjoyed to be moving again; she stepped precisely around a hole, cantering on sure legs.
When they reached the little wicket gate at the end of the lane, illuminated in the last beams of the day’s winter sun, instead of opening it, Sage put her leg on asking Rosalie if she would like to jump it.
The horse lengthened her stride and leapt over it cleanly, Sage letting out a soft laugh of pure joy.
When she came across Walter, she beamed a smile of such pleasure that he forgot to admonish her for larking while hounds were not running.
There were only a few horses and riders left now; most had packed up and gone home to hot baths.
‘I’d forgotten what a nice horse she is,’ was all he said in a low voice, looking at Rosalie approvingly.
‘Where are Constance and Hal? Have they gone back to Crockford?’ Sage asked quietly, not wanting to disturb hounds who were milling about above them, their weaving black silhouettes standing out against the pale grey sky on the dark ridge.
‘Yes, it’ll take them a while to walk back so we’ll probably catch them up.’ Walter lit a cigar, and offered one to Sage.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, smiling at him, touched by his thoughtfulness, so like her grandfather. Remembering something, Walter smiled.
‘He didn’t want to go home though, your boy. Keen as mustard, that one. He did well today. I should be very proud.’
Tommy started back down the hill, his horse looking weary as they walked slowly towards them.
‘I think we’ll call it a day, sir,’ he said, removing his cap respectfully as he addressed Walter.
‘Fine, fine,’ the old man said good-naturedly, ‘I think we showed the field a good bit of sport today – well done.’ He turned his horse to follow hounds, firstly letting Tommy take them past before following on into the twilight.
The moon had risen on the other side of the wood and was almost full, her ghostly pallor lighting up the valley.
Louis appeared from the gloom and fell into step beside Sage. His big bay chaser was still full of energy, raking at his reins and prancing sideways into Rosalie.
‘Did you have fun?’ he asked her, his dark eyes searching, ignoring his horse’s bad manners and sitting quietly in the saddle, totally preoccupied.
‘Oh yes, I loved both of the horses. It’s been a real treat,’ Sage said truthfully.
‘Where’s my big brother?’ Louis said. ‘Have you lost him already?’
‘I’m not actually sure … He lost a shoe on Cobra and said he’d find another horse and come back.’ Sage was worried all of a sudden; she hoped he had not come to grief somewhere in the darkness.
‘Oh, there aren’t any more rideable horses at home, he was probably just being chivalrous so that you didn’t wait for him.
’ Louis smiled at her, his eyes glittering in the dark.
His horse plunged wildly as a pheasant flew out from underfoot and Louis laughed, not minding.
Sage, irritated, watched him sitting easily, not shifting in the saddle.
She thought that a good, healthy, ego-bruising dose of falling off would have done Louis no harm at all.
‘What happened to … what was her name? Veronica?’ Sage asked archly, feeling foolish for playing games.
‘Oh, her? I don’t know. I think she’s about somewhere,’ Louis said, unconcerned, and Sage wondered whether he’d even noticed that she had spoken Vanessa’s name wrong.
If he was any more relaxed, he’d be horizontal on his horse’s back, she thought wryly.
The string of horses began to trot when they made it onto the road and Sage was glad.
Trotting, apart from warming her up, removed any need to make small talk with Louis.
He unnerved her. She could feel his eyes on her and she looked studiously straight ahead.
The sound from their horses’ shoes banging on the road drowned out Sage’s soft voice and Louis gave up trying to talk after a while, content to ride the five miles back in silence, jogging along easily beside her.
As it got darker and colder Sage was surprised to find herself glad of his company.
Back at the house, Rafe had already had a bath and changed and he was back in cords and a blue cashmere jersey; his hair was still damp and brushed back off his face, the soft stable lighting managing to highlight the distinct planes of his face, the aquiline nose and astonishingly handsome patrician features, and Sage fell into his safe, welcoming arms. He smelt of Pears soap and extract of limes and she breathed in his familiar scent hungrily.
He rubbed her back for a moment, kissing the top of her head.
‘Are you hungry? There’s tea laid on in the house. Hal’s tucking into boiled eggs and soldiers.’
‘I’m starving!’ Sage realized, her stomach rumbling at the thought of food.
‘We have also been invited, or rather my mother has begged us, to stay another night. They have people coming for dinner and Mum would love us to stay. I haven’t committed though – it’s totally up to you.’
‘Can you manage another night away? Won’t the horses need you?’
‘I thought I could leave early. I’ll get Dad’s driver to take me back for about six in the morning and I’ll leave you the car. You can drive back in your own time with Hal.’
‘Yes, let’s stay. But we’ll come back with you in the morning. We can bundle Hal into the car in his pyjamas. My grandfather will want me back for Skylark anyway, she’s galloping tomorrow.’
‘Are you sure? Mum will be over the moon. I don’t think she wanted to relinquish Hal, they’re as thick as thieves.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sage would gladly have stayed here for ever. She felt safe in the nucleus of this warm, generous family.
Rafe slung his arm around Sage’s shoulders as he steered her towards the dining room.
A sharp sound made Sage jump. Tapping across the polished floorboards, her stilettos carving into centuries of painstakingly applied floor polish, was Mary Dunbarton.
‘Hello, Rafe,’ she said, pointedly ignoring Sage.
‘What are you doing here, Mary?’ Rafe asked in astonishment.
‘I bumped into Cousin Louis on the Fulham Road yesterday. Did Kestrel tell you? I’ll be changing postcodes. My detestable brother is moving me into some hovel in Parsons Green, just to save the ruin up in Scotland.’
Rafe choked back a laugh.
‘Mary, I’d hardly call Castle Dunbarton a ruin and yes, I have spoken to Kestrel. I found him the house in Parsons Green. An owner of mine was selling it. A completely refurbished four-bedroom house with a large private walled garden is hardly a hovel. Don’t be disappointing, Mary. Try to be nice.’
Mary looked sour at this, her small mouth puckering in rage, and turning on her pointed heel, she stalked out of the hall towards the main staircase.
They heard her clacking up the wooden stairs.
‘Oh Lord,’ croaked Sage in horror, ‘don’t tell me she’s staying the night, too?’
‘It would appear so,’ Rafe said quietly as he wondered, silently, what on earth his cousin Mary was really doing there.